Eternal Shadow
by Irish Anor
Summary: After a hunt in which they became the hunted, Legolas is captive in Mordor, caught in a web of deceit and darkness; he must now discern reality from dream before he becomes an unwilling and unwitting pawn in Aragorn’s demise.
1. In Which Hunters Become Hunted

A/N: This story takes place in early 2971 which means that Aragorn is approximately 40 years old. I have decided to make Legolas 2897 since Tolkien never gave his specific age. (Also just to let you know, later on in the story I mention that they are traveling across Rhovanion. If you have a map in front of you, then you'll notice that the word Rhovanion is shown across Mirkwood. Legolas and Aragorn are traveling on the outskirts of Mirkwood. Not actually in the Forest.)

Disclaimer: Recognizable quotes most likely belong to Tolkien or Peter Jackson; Universe belongs to Tolkien; Story belongs to me :)

I

"Legolas, quickly! The tracks have turned southeast!"

It was still early in the day, and the sun had just barely risen, but they could not afford to lose any time. They had finally finished their hike across the Misty Mountains the day before and were now hopefully gaining on their quarry: a large group of Orcs.

The group of Orcs had been terrorizing villages for weeks when Gandalf had told Aragorn and Legolas of the situation. For awhile, they had traveled with the Rangers when a larger problem arose, which the Rangers went to take care of. Aragorn and Legolas broke off from the group to take care of this group of Orcs before they would join the Rangers again.

Legolas ran past the Edan swiftly. Aragorn ran harder to catch up with him, but there was no need. Legolas stopped suddenly and Aragorn ran into him, not foreseeing that was going to happen. "Wha--?" he started before stopping and looking at the ground. It was littered with many goblin bodies.

Aragorn and Legolas stood contemplating the sight in front of them for a few more moments before Aragorn began reading the signs. He began walking around the bodies, bent over, close to the ground.

"It seems there was a great battle, and yet it was only one person who took down all of these Orcs. Or rather, one something I should say, for I know not what it was that did this. The tracks are too big to be human and they seem to have an almost animal like quality to them, yet at the same time, they seem to also have a human quality. I do not know what it was that killed all of these, but it must have been an ally. The rest of the Orcs fled in the same direction we are heading. That is where we must continue; there is no time to look for what killed all these." He stopped in front of a body and looked closely at it, as though trying to figure out just what could have destroyed the Orc so viciously.

Aragorn stood up once again and looked at Legolas, who was still looking at the tracks with a strange look in his bright eyes. Legolas, feeling the humans' gaze on him, sprang lightly to his feet. "Yes, very strange," he mused to Aragorn.

Wondering about the Elf's strange behavior, but not commenting on it, Aragorn said, "Well, we must leave this a mystery for now as we have no more time to ponder this riddle. Come, let us make haste to catch up with the rest of the Orcs, whoever our ally is, hopefully made it easier for us to take down the rest of them."

With that, Legolas and Aragorn once again took up their silent trek across Rhovanion. They did not pause to for the next few hours until the sun began to set. Then they contemplated on whether or not to stop. Finally, they decided to stop for fear of missing the tracks if they changed direction in the dark. They set up camp beside a clear, cold river. Aragorn took a flask of water out of his pack and handed it to Legolas. "Here, drink some water, mellon-nin."

Legolas took the container and drank a little before handing back to Aragorn and telling him to drink. "After all," Legolas teased, "Elves tire much less easily than Men. I am sure you need it much more than I do."

Aragorn cracked a smile and began chuckling. "Well in that case, then, I am sure you don't mind taking first watch, as of course you won't be tired at all." Legolas made a face at him and playfully hit him on the shoulder.

Aragorn took out some Lembas from his pack and threw a piece to Legolas who caught it swiftly. He began eating it. Aragorn also ate a piece himself before lying down on the soft grass. "Earendil shines bright tonight, does he not?" Aragorn said quietly to Legolas, who was also looking at the sky.

"Aye, that he does, Estel."

They were silent for a few more moments before Legolas stood up and spoke.

"You should get some rest. I will take first watch and wake you when it is your turn. Idh mae, Estel."

Aragorn smiled, closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep to the soft sound of the Elf singing quietly to himself in his own tongue beside him.

The next morning Aragorn woke up and shook his head. It was still quite early in the morning, and the Sun was barely rising, giving a soft glow to everything it touched. Aragorn looked around and saw that Legolas had already picked up camp and was nowhere in sight. Suddenly he heard a soft musical voice from behind him.

"So, you have finally decided to wake up and join me?"

Aragorn turned around quickly and saw Legolas standing there with a smile on his face.

"Well, you could have woken me up!" Aragorn said, still grumpy from having just awoken. "Besides, that reminds me; why didn't you wake me up last night for my watch?"

Legolas replied, "You looked so peaceful I could not bear to wake you up and be stuck with someone as grumpy as you after you wake up. Also, you looked as though you needed your beauty sleep."

Aragorn aimed a punch at the Elf, who ducked promptly, knowing what was coming. "Elves!" Aragorn muttered under his breath while throwing a dirty look at Legolas, who just laughed merrily.

Finally, when Aragorn was once again in good humor, they prepared to continue after the Orcs. After making sure they had everything, they erased all signs of having been there and once again set out across the long, endless stretch of land. Dark clouds began rolling in and covering the sky. The terrain was growing rough, and it was getting harder to run.

It took them a while, as Aragorn stopped fairly often to lie down and listen to the earth. Sometimes he would lie there so long Legolas could not help but wonder if he had fallen asleep. The Orcs were near, of that much they were sure, yet even the eyesight of Legolas could not see them. They began wondering if there was sorcery going on, for Arda did not lie. Somehow they were keeping hidden from sight. The Elf and the Man began to wonder if they were traveling through Eryn Lasgalen instead of plain sight, strange a course though that would be.

If that was so, then that would prove yet another obstacle for them. It would be a harder battle for them in the woods rather than on the plains. Legolas knew of this more than Aragorn, since it was his homeland and he had been fighting Spiders and Orcs there for quite a while. At that moment, Aragorn, who had been lying down listening for quite a while, suddenly jumped up at the same exact moment Legolas notched an arrow.

"_Yrch_!" he cried, falling back into his own tongue. Suddenly, a large group of Orcs hurtled out of the forest beside them. These were large Mordor Uruks. There was a giant red eye painted crudely on each of their armor. Legolas began to rapidly shoot arrows with a speed and grace possessed only by the Firstborn. Aragorn released several arrows before he replaced his bow with his sword. Once the Uruk- hai were near enough, he began to really show his skill with a blade. He fought with the grace of one who has wielded a sword for many years. Though, as many as they killed, more still came.

After slashing down another Uruk-hai, Legolas looked away for a moment and said "Estel, _ego_!"

Aragorn looked at his friend and said, "_Baw! Avon heiram le si na belthoam_!"

Legolas glanced away, abruptly stabbing an Orc as he spoke urgently, "_Le garo ego_!"

"_Baw_!" Aragorn repeated stubbornly.

Legolas shook his head and began fighting once again with new vigor. Somehow, in the midst of the battle, Legolas got separated from Aragorn and the next thing he knew one of the large Uruk-hai, most likely the leader of the group, said "Drop your weapons, Elf, or the human dies!"

Legolas looked around surprised and called out "Estel, _he bor_?"

He heard Aragorn reply to his left and he turned slightly. He saw five Uruk-hai holding Aragorn and another holding a knife to his throat. The Uruk pressed it tighter so that a little blood trickled down his neck. His sword lay on the ground about three-arm length's away.

"Legolas, _avo_!"

Legolas looked at his friend and slowly dropped both his blades and his bow and arrows. Immediately, a group of six Uruk-hai came over and subdued him, tying his hands roughly behind his back. Then the Uruk-hai holding Aragorn did the same to him. The leader of the group growled: "Put them to sleep. We don't need any more trouble!"

The last thing Aragorn and Legolas saw was the Uruk-hai surrounding them before both of their worlds went black.

___

When Legolas woke it was dark and there was a large fire going, casting flickering shadows around its immediate perimeter. He attempted to turn around when he realized that he was staked to the ground. He squirmed around trying to get a good view of what was going on. He finally found a somewhat comfortable position, or at least as comfortable as you can be while staked to the ground and tied up, where he could see Aragorn and the goings on of the Uruk-hai. He saw Aragorn had his eyes closed, though he was not tied to the ground as Legolas was, and the Elf hissed, "Estel! Estel, _echuivo_!"

Aragorn seemed to wake up. He opened his eyes slowly, as though savoring the last bit of a pleasant dream.

"Estel, _tye le mae_?"

Aragorn answered: "_Avo iosto, mellon nin, im_-"

Suddenly, he was silenced by a kick from his guard. "Be quiet!" his guard said angrily. Legolas retorted sharply, "_Antolle ulua sulrim_!" He stooped over Legolas, bringing his yellow fangs close to his face. He had a black knife with a long jagged blade in his hand.

"Lie quiet or I'll tickle you with this," he hissed in the Common speech, which he made almost as hideous as his own language. "Don't draw attention to yourself or I may forget my orders."

Then he went into a long speech in his own tongue, "U bagronk sha pushdog glob bubhosh skai..." This went on for a few more moments before he finally trailed off and was quiet.

Legolas struggled, trying to get his bonds undone, but to no avail. He looked at Aragorn who was just raising his eyebrows; his eyes seemed to say 'Was that really necessary, Legolas?'

Legolas did not wish to draw any more attention to himself, yet he could not bear the thought of being captive and submissive to these creatures.

Just being this near to such malevolent creatures made Legolas feel sick. He finally lay still, deeming his struggle useless. They had tied him too tight; and instead, he listened to what the Uruk-hai were saying around the fire. Most of it was, to his surprise, in the Common Tongue.

"Why don't we just kill them? They are only hindering us!" One of them snarled.

"They are the whole reason we came here, fool! If we killed them, _He_ wouldn't be happy, and I wouldn't want to be the one at the end of _His_ anger; unless you would like to be the one to explain to him why we don't have them?" said another vehemently.

Eventually all of their arguing died out. The night was cold and still. Legolas and Aragorn fell into fitful dreams. Sometime during the middle of the night Aragorn woke up and heard Legolas singing softly to himself in his own tongue. After that, Aragorn slept much more peacefully until the morning found them, and with that, the beginning of an endless nightmare.

Legolas was in a dark and troubled dream when he awoke with a start.

Cold air blew on his face. He was lying on his back and the stones beneath him were boring into his skin. He tried to turn and found the dreams were only a little worse than waking up to reality. For a moment he wondered where he was, and then he remembered he was tied to the ground. Then, he recalled the previous day's events and his capture. Beside him Aragorn lay, white faced, with his wrists and ankles tied.

The sky was still dark, as the sun had not yet risen. Clouds were covering the sky, making everything seem darker than it really was. Legolas began struggling again. He actually pulled up one of the stakes that bound his wrist to the ground. He quickly used that hand to free his other and soon he had both hands free. His wrists were raw and red from the bonds that they had tied so cruelly, and his hands were numb with lack of blood. However, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't untie the knots on the rope. He would just have to keep the rope on, though he desperately wanted to take them off.

He then wondered what to do about this dilemma. He had to come up of with a plan quickly, before the guards returned. For the moment he just tied the rope to make it look as though he was still staked to the ground. If he were to try and escape, the Uruk-hai would quickly find him, since that was why they were in this area; according the Uruk he had listened to the night before. He finally came to the decision of feigning to still be bound up tight to the ground, and when the opportune moment came, he would help Aragorn escape. He figured they would not chase too hard after the human, and Aragorn could not afford to be caught.

Legolas was worried for his friend. If Aragorn was brought before the Dark Lord, then all hope of uniting mankind as a race would be lost. He _was_ the hope for all mankind. The Dark Lord would eventually find out that Isildur's heir is in fact alive, and dwelling in Imladris. Once Aragorn was out of the picture, there would be no dawn for men. Gorthaur would be sure of that.

Legolas shuddered to think of that.

Suddenly, the Uruks that were guarding the perimeter came back and saw Legolas was not in the same place that he was in earlier. One of them came forward and Legolas saw that it was the same Uruk that had threatened him the night before.

"Oi, you!" he snarled roughly. "You're much more trouble than you're worth!"

Then he came closer to Legolas and brought forth his knife again. "Go ahead, scream! There is no one around to save you!" He brought the knife to Legolas' neck and it started cutting into his skin.

Legolas winced as blood started oozing out when suddenly another Uruk, the one who was guarding Aragorn, saw what was happening. He yelled angrily, "Drushnak! What do you think you are doing, fool?!"

Drushnak did not pull his knife away; instead he merely growled, "This elf is up to something! I think we should just kill it now before it causes us any more trouble!"

The other Uruk said, "No! Bagronk bubdash, Drushnak, skai u-glob!"

Drushnak reluctantly pulled his knife away though he looked repeatedly at the other Uruk in anger. Finally, he stepped away after giving Legolas a hard kick in the head, nearly causing him to fall unconscious again.

The sky was growing lighter and the clouds began drifting away. A red sun rose over the horizon. Now the camp began to wake up and Aragorn was one of the first. The first thing he did was turn to look at Legolas. What he saw made him take in a breath sharply. Legolas had a bloody gash on his head and blood was seeping out through a wound in his neck.

"Legolas?" Aragorn whispered quietly; he knew the Elf's keen hearing would catch his words. Legolas moved his head slightly to look at Aragorn, the human said: "_Mani marte? Manen nar tye_?"

"_Im triw, _Estel_; ceru u fuio nia anim, mellon-nin_."

Aragorn began to shake his head and say something else, but before he could answer, some Uruks came over and began dragging them both to their feet. The Uruks released Legolas from his hold to the ground and roughly pulled him to his feet. Aragorn saw the Elf stagger a little as he stood, then he once again regained his equanimity.

The Uruks started jeering cruelly at him, and one of the Uruks behind him grabbed his hair and jerked him backwards. Legolas lost his footing and began to fall, but his bonds that the Uruk-hai in front of him were holding jerked him to a stop, and Legolas and Aragorn heard a sickening _crack_! from one of his wrists. He somehow pushed himself back up and spat at the ground in front of the Uruk-hai.

"_Amin feuya ten'lle_!" Legolas hissed, between clenched teeth at the Uruk-hai that were holding him.

A couple more Uruk-hai came over and roughly grabbed Aragorn away from his friend. Aragorn began violently trying to get out of the Uruks grips and he actually pulled free of two of them. He began trying to get to Legolas, but his guards came up and viciously pulled him away. The last thing Aragorn saw was a scuffle breaking out between a bound Legolas and his guards. He saw more Uruk hai gather around the Elf and he realized Legolas was once again restrained. He wondered how Legolas even had managed to attack them in the first place.

The last thing he saw before the circle closed on him was Legolas in the center, being advanced upon by the Uruks. His father had told him what Uruk-hai and Orcs did unto the Firstborn, the Fair Ones, when they could catch one. Aragorn closed his eyes in anguish and tried to block out the screams.

_

_Mellon-nin -_ My friend  
_Idh mae_ - Rest well  
_Ego!_ - Go!  
_Baw! Avon heiram le si na belthoam!_ - No! I will not leave you here to die!  
_Le garo ego! _- You must go!  
_Baw!_ - No!  
_He Bor?_ - is this true/trustworthy?  
_Echuivo_ – Awaken  
_Tye le mae?_ - Are you well?  
_Avo iosto mellon-nin, im_ - Don't worry my friend, I  
_Antolle ulua sulrim _- Much wind pours from you mouth  
_Mani marte? Manen nar tye?_ - What happened? Are you all right?  
_Im triw; ceru u fuio nia anim _- I'm fine; do not worry about me  
_Amin feuya ten'lle_ - You disgust me


	2. Omen estel edain

II

Though Aragorn had attempted to turn away, block out of the sounds, the sounds of the scene unfolded not 10 yards away from him. The Orcs started chanting in the Black Speech loudly in their guttural, squalid voices. Aragorn flinched at the sound and imagined how Legolas might be feeling. He knew the Black Speech was like poison to elves ears, just as the Language of the Firstborn was poison to the Orcs ears.

The ugly sound echoed furiously across the countryside, and large groups of birds started squawking and flew off. He also heard large groans coming from the forest beside them. The sky grew darker as shady clouds rolled in and the air grew heavy. All good seemed to be gone from the world as all who heard the speech, excluding the Uruk-hai themselves, slipped into dark thoughts and memories.

Within the circle, Legolas desperately struggled, trying to get away from the circle of Uruks, but to no avail. They began circling around him, chanting in the black tongue. Legolas closed his eyes trying to block the scene and the sound out. He now felt sick to his stomach, and he could not concentrate on anything except the loud speech going on around him. It penetrated everything and Legolas started shaking at the sound as it grew louder. The very sound seemed to choke Legolas. He felt icy fear grip at his heart and his breathing grew uneven. He turned to the side to vomit.

Suddenly Legolas jerked forward as the kiss of a whip flicked across his back, leaving five large bleeding welts. Yet no sound came from his mouth. They lashed him again and still he did not make a sound. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, trying to keep from crying out. The Uruk cocked his arm and again the whip struck Legolas' back, this time finding a place where it had previously struck. Legolas took in a sharp breath, his breathing uneven, and the Orcs heard. They started laughing cruelly at seeing the elf in torment. Legolas felt searing pain shoot through every part of his body.

The whips had five tails and at the end of each one it had a metal hook and bits of glass attached, to insure that whoever the victim was, he would be in brutal pain. Again, the whip lashed out and again, Legolas jerked forward. His lips were in a tight line and his face was pale and drawn. The whip lashed again and again until finally Legolas could take it no longer. Legolas found what strength he had and left and used it to stand, but as soon as he did, the Uruk whipped him across the shins and Legolas collapsed, blood covering the ground. As the whips hit him again, Legolas let out a cry of pain.

Aragorn clenched his teeth at the sound of the cry, and then another, and then another.

At last, the large Uruk-hai who had been standing off to the left, and obviously the leader of the group, yelled out: "Enough! We must leave the elf alive and well enough for the Great Eye! Make sure it' hands are still bound properly. We cannot have any hold-ups!"

The Uruk-hai around Legolas nodded and roughly grabbed his hand. Legolas stifled the urge to cry out as they brutally jerked his right hand around. It was already broken from earlier when they had been taunting him. The Uruk-hai made sure the rope was tight enough and pushed Legolas forward. The elf stumbled and the Uruk-hai to his left, Drushnak no less, kicked him savagely. "Move it, elf!"

The Uruk-hai surrounding Legolas dispersed and Aragorn caught sight of his friend. "Legolas!" Aragorn cried out as he viewed the elf. Legolas' tunic was viciously torn, and blood covered his whole back. His head hung low, and his shoulders slumped. All around him the ground was covered with dark blood.

He looked up at the sound of Aragorn's voice. He saw the concern in the Edan's eyes and his silently mouthed: 'Don't worry.'

Aragorn shook his head in exasperation and anguish. Aragorn had known the Prince of Mirkwood his whole life, and he knew Legolas was the most stubborn elf he had ever met. He was also one of the noblest elves he had ever met, a quiet dignity that had nothing to do with being a prince. For though the elf tried to hide it, Aragorn saw the excruciating pain that clouded his eyes every time he moved; and even when he sat still.

Aragorn clenched and unclenched his fists at the torment of his friend and brother.

Shortly after, the Uruk-hai picked up what they needed for the rest of the journey to where ever they were talking them, but left everything else. They made no care to be cautious now that they had taken what they had been searching for. They left the scattered wood that they had brutally cut down the night before and many other things including rope, various scattered pieces of bread, burnt materials, and cinders.

Finally, the Orcs finished packing and prepared to leave. The leader, Bagronk, bellowed, "Make sure the prisoners are secure! We cannot allow any chance of escape! Move out! " A group of Uruk-hai surrounded both the elf and the human and began pushing them both along.

Whenever Legolas would stumble or fall, one of the Uruk-hai would kick him brutally. More then once, Aragorn would get punished for standing up for his friend or just simply because they felt like hurting him. They each had four Uruk-hai guarding them, and someone either in front or in back making sure all was going well and there were no escape attempts.

The terrain grew rougher and rockier as they continued moving towards their destination. Sharp rocks covered the ground, and the green grass was decreasing as dirt and rock replaced it.

The day grew on and it grew hotter and hotter as the Sun beat down upon them. Legolas' blood stained tunic, or what was left of it anyway, clung to his back and the sweat burned his wounds. Legolas made no sound, or any sign that he was in pain, but Aragorn knew. He could see it on his face when he stumbled and he could see it in his eyes when the elf would look at him, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Now Legolas faltered again and he received a savage kick from Drushnak. He clenched his hands into fists and kicked back without thinking.

The Orc had not expected Legolas to do that and was taken quite by surprise. He yelped in pain as all the other Orcs in the company turned to watch. Legolas looked surprised at his own daring, but he also looked uneasy for the inevitable.

Now all the Orcs began laughing at the sight of their comrade yelping in pain and the Orc grew mad. Bagronk came over to see what all the commotion was about and when he saw Drushnak he asked, "What is the meaning of this? I thought I said I did not want any hold-ups!"

Drushnak winced at the tone of his leader but answered stoutly just the same, "'E kicked me! The bloody elf kicked me!"

Bagronk snorted in contempt, "And I suppose you can't even take the kick of an elf?" Drushnak was silent as the other Uruk-hai howled with laughter. Bagronk turned to them and said, "Shut up! You are no better than Drushnak!"

Now he turned to Legolas, "Don't do anything else, elf, or you will receive a worse punishment than you already are getting. Don't think you will have no consequences for your actions! Now get moving! Use the whip only as a reminder! Make them both run!"

Drushnak followed his orders, though he leaned down to Legolas and snarled, "Remember, that's not all. I shan't forget. I will pay you back later on!"

The ranks began moving again, and Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief knowing that Legolas was safe; for the moment anyway. He had not heard what Drushnak had told his friend. The day continued on like this, and Aragorn could feel beads of sweat forming on his brow.

Then, later in the day, the dark clouds rolled in again. Slowly the day grew darker and darker. The Sun disappeared and the wind grew.

At first Aragorn welcomed the change in weather, but as it gradually grew worse, he began wishing the Sun was still out. The wind picked up more and more and Legolas' hair whipped around him, slapping his face and his back. His hair would fly backwards and aggravate his wounds.

Soon rain began to fall softly. First in little raindrops, then it began growing worse. Soon the slight drizzle turned into a heavier rainfall, and gradually that grew worse too until it began to pour.

Their clothes and boots were soaked, and Aragorn shivered with the cold. Legolas also shivered, though Aragorn wasn't entirely sure it was because of the cold, for he knew elves were not as prone to the cold as humans were. They traveled in this weather for quite a long time, and Legolas continued to stumble.

Finally, Bagronk yelled out, "Set up camp! We stop for the night! Somebody bring me the elf!"

Aragorn watched helplessly as Legolas got dragged away. He knew it would be no use to struggle, but he refused to give up hope. He began to push away as his guard's attentions wandered elsewhere. He abruptly slid the knife from the Uruks belt and held it before him in his tied hands. Immediately he rushed into action, stabbing the Uruk from whom he had stolen the knife. Just as immediately, the Uruks rushed into action and assaulted the Ranger. After wrestling the knife from him, one of his guards spat: "I warned you."

Aragorn stared in despair as the Uruk proceeded to move over to Legolas.

Drushnak roughly grabbed the Elf by his arms and dragged him over to Bagronk. As soon as Legolas got there he threw the elf to the ground. Legolas stifled a cry as he landed on his broken wrist. Bagronk put his foot on Legolas' back and refused to let him move. He told Drushnak to hold the elf down; while he grabbed a whip he had been carrying.

Legolas began struggling and fighting as he saw the whips, but the Uruk-hai would not let him budge. They laughed at his attempts and dug their nails into his skin. Legolas continued to struggle, but not with as much vigor as before.

Aragorn watched from the side powerlessly, as he friend struggled helplessly. There was fear in his eyes, and Aragorn could see it, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

One of the Orcs, Drushnak no less, bent down to Legolas and began telling him something, with a cruel look upon his fetid face. He saw Legolas shut his eyes. Legolas tried pulling away from him, but his grip was too tight. Legolas began shaking his head, as though trying convince himself of something. The Uruk continued speaking to him and Legolas began shaking uncontrollably. It was as if a strong wind gripped him, and Aragorn could only watch.

The Uruk stepped away from Legolas though Aragorn could see that its mouth was still moving, and Legolas continued to look horrified.

Now Bagronk cocked his wrist and the whip sailed through the air with a loud crack. Large red pools of blood appeared over the old welts, but Legolas was silent. He lashed again and still no sound came from the elf. He lashed a third time, and Legolas' body jerked to the side. The whips were digging into his wounds from earlier that day. After a cry, Legolas fell into darkness.

As soon as Legolas lost unconsciousness, the Uruk's began laughing loudly. Aragorn felt hate boil up in him at the fetid beings that surrounded his now unconscious friend. His back was covered in blood, and so was some of his hair.

Aragorn longed to go to his friend, though now he now had more Uruk-hai guarding him since his last attempt. Legolas lay in an awkward position and the Uruk-hai just laughed some more and left him there.

They finished setting up camp and one of the Uruk-hai came over to Aragorn. He untied Aragorns hands and put them in front of him. Then he retied his arms higher up so he was able to eat. He carried a small flask of water and roughly gave it to Aragorn.

"This is your only ration of water for a time, human. So do not waste it. You will not get another." Then he gave Aragorn a small piece of maggoty bread. He grinned cruelly and caustically said, "Enjoy."

Aragorn carefully picked up the flask of water so it would not drip. He could not waste any of it. He drank a little and put the rest aside for Legolas, who had still not awoken.

Finally after a few hours, Legolas stirred. The rain was still coming down steady. He opened his eyes to find he was exactly where he had been before. His eyes roamed around in search of Aragorn. He found the human laying beside a tree with his eyes closed. He saw the Uruk-hai look at him and he quickly closed his eyes again, but not quick enough.

The Uruk-hai saw he was awake and came over. He dragged Legolas over to the same tree where Aragorn was. Aragorn opened his eyes to see what was going on, and was surprised to see Legolas awake. His lips were in a tight line as the Uruk dragged him over to the tree with the ranger, not realizing the mistake of putting him beside Aragorn.

He threw Legolas down to the ground, and Aragorn heard the elf make a muffled cry as he landed once again on his broken wrist. Legolas shut his eyes tight for a few moments and swayed to the side before regaining his equilibrium and sitting as straight and tall as he could, considering all his pain. Then the Uruk took out another piece of maggoty bread and threw it at the fair being. It hit him on his chest and fell to the ground. The Uruk sneered cruelly and said, "There's your only food, elf, and if you want to drink then drink the rain." He laughed harshly and walked away.

Aragorn felt fury rise up in him once again at the Uruk-hai. Legolas would rather starve than act like an animal and drink the rain and eat from the ground! He looked over at the elf, who was leaning against the tree breathing unevenly. Every breath he took seemed to cause him pain, so he was forced to take in short breaths. Aragorn looked at his friend, distressed. At least the Uruks had left them, foolishly, but they had done so nonetheless.

"Have faith, Legolas."

Softly. "I do have faith, Estel. Do you have faith?"

Aragorn's answer got caught in his throat. He abruptly responded, "Yes," hoping he sounded convincing enough to fool Legolas.

Legolas raised his eyebrows as though he could tell the human was lying.

"Estel, you must escape."

Aragorn opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Legolas continued. "No, do not tell me I should, or you should not. Estel, you are Mankind's only hope. If Sauron finds out you're alive... If he already knows..." Legolas trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence.

"Legolas, how would Sauron find out? I cannot simply just leave you here."

Legolas answered, "They are taking us to Mordor, Estel. I heard them talking. They came for both of us, on chance that we are who they think we are, so they will not chase after you too hard if you escape, I think. I will make a diversion, and you must go." Aragorn opened his mouth to protest once again, but Legolas interrupted painfully, "Estel, you need to do this. Tell Lord Elrond what happened, but you must leave. You cannot be captured. You must leave." A desperate pleading tone filled his voice.

Aragorn heard the plea in his friend's voice and felt his heart twinge at what he had to do. He knew Legolas would probably die while he was gone. He would die; he knew the Uruks would show no mercy, and at Mordor itself... He also knew what Legolas said was true. He meekly nodded and said heavily, "Very well, Legolas. I will do as you say..."

Legolas took in a deep breath and said, "Good, you escape tonight." His tone sounded relieved, although at the same time, it sounded as though one resigned his fate. And in way, the latter was very true. Legolas moved slightly and Aragorn could see that his bonds were not tied. The Uruk-hai had accidentally whipped through the rope when Legolas had been beaten; he leaned over to Aragorn and un-knotted his binds. When he finally did, Aragorn moved his hands and feet around to get the blood going again.

Legolas made painfully to stand, using the tree as a support. Their eyes met, briefly intensely. Legolas smiled, resignedly, sadly, but with intensity.

"Estel."

He tore his gaze away, and ran.


	3. Uehebin estel anim

III

Legolas' foot beats were loud in his own ears as he took each step. The pain shot through every limb in his entire body, but he kept going. He knew he had to distract the Uruk-hai away from Aragorn. He ran straight through the camp, making sure he had all attention, not merely the attention of a few. He had reached the middle when finally the Uruk-hai were distracted from their recent kill and feast, and began to chase after him. He threw one last look over his shoulder at Aragorn to make sure the ranger had fled.

Aragorn was watching his friend run, and trying to get himself to tear away his glance. As Legolas turned around once more to look at him, Aragorn began to move so Legolas would know he was going, so Legolas would know his sacrifice would not be naught. He made his hands form the sign of hope and showed it to the elf. Legolas smiled slightly for the last time and continued running. The Uruks, apparently, had failed to notice any of this. Aragorn forced one foot in front of the other, and using all the energy he had left, he ran. Thinking only of Legolas and getting away - Those two thoughts drove him on, faster than he would have ever hoped to go.

Legolas continued on, pushing forward, running this way and that, just trying to make sure he gave Aragorn enough time. Each step fell into rhythm with his heartbeat and he began to concentrate on just that. Right. Left. Right. Left. Pushing forward. Forgetting the pain; the ache; the sorrow;run.

Right. Left. Right. Left.

A roaring in his ears.

The wind.

The Uruk-hai breathing heavily behind him and cursing him.

A bird.

The earth.

The rain falling on the ground loudly.

He heard the sounds, and yet at the same time, he heard only the rhythmic sound of his footfalls and his heartbeat. Sounds and pain blended together until… Suddenly the ground came rushing up at him and all rhythmic sounds left and he felt only pain.

Pain crashing into him and nearly causing him to fall unconscious again.

He hit the ground with full force and felt the jagged rocks sear deep into his skin. Everything was suddenly silent to his ears. He could see the Uruk-hai coming. They came closer and closer until they all hurtled themselves upon him, making sure he did not escape again.

Then abruptly, all sound returned came back and the heavy breathing of the Uruk-hai mixed with his own. He could hear the Uruk-hai breathing heavily as well as himself. He could smell their horrid stench and attempted to struggle, but found he could not; found he could not even seem to control his limbs, let alone his ability to breath. All breath was gone from him and he was being asphyxiated by the Uruk-hai. He tried to suck air into his lungs. He was gasping. He could not breathe, and yet his only thoughts were of Aragorn.

At long last, he was out from under the weight of the Orcs. Somehow, in the middle of all the commotion, a blade had found Legolas' arm and nipped through a muscle. They grabbed a piece of rope that they had brought and grabbed Legolas' wrists. The elf tensed and gritted his teeth to keep from crying out as they once again hurt his broken wrist. Then, to Legolas' great torment, they grabbed the rope and dragged him back to camp by the bonds. Legolas bit his lips until they bled to prevent himself from crying out. He was dragged through the mud unceremoniously. Somehow, though, the cool mud almost seemed to soothe his wounds.

They finally arrived and roughly threw the archer against a large tree. His vision went black for a few seconds after hitting his head upon the tree and falling forward onto the ground.

"Elf scum! I am going to make you wish you had never been born!"

"Bloody elf! You led us a merry chase and now you will pay for it!"

"I warned you, elf! Now you will receive your punishment!"

Insults rang in his ears from all sides as the inevitable happened. He felt whips. Whips kissing his torso from every direction. Fire consuming his back. Pain. Roaring in his ears. Then, suddenly, a screech, unearthly.

"Where did the human go?!"

The others stopped at the interruption and looked around. Finally they realized they had been tricked and outsmarted.

One Uruk asked, "Do we chase after him?"

The leader replied, "No, we cannot spare the time. I don't think he was the ranger we were after anyway, but at least if he was, we still got the elf... and no one withholds information before the Great Eye. No one doesn't break."

Though pain consumed him, Legolas was able to smile slightly inside. Their plan was working, and if it continued it did so Aragorn would be able to make good time. However, he knew more paying was coming up, and he braced himself for the inevitable. This time, their wrath would be worse, and no doubt they would come up with inventive ways to torture him.

The enraged leader walked over and kicked Legolas. He continued doing so until his head looked a bloody mess and he was out of breath. Then he said, "Ruskib!"

The orc standing next to him turned and Bagronk continued, "Fetch it!"

The orc called Ruskib sneered evilly and said, "Aye, captain." He turned and quickly left after sneering at Legolas again.

Legolas let out a low groan. He hadn't known such pain was possible. His entire body felt as though it was on fire and every muscle ached horribly. He didn't know what they were bringing, but he knew it would not be pleasant. Everything was blurred and his head was throbbing. He shivered slightly. Elves did not feel extremities, but the rain was icy cold and biting into the wounds that covered his entire body.

Just then, Ruskib walked back, carrying some sort of flask in his hands. Two other Uruk hai forced his head back and pried his mouth open. He did not have the strength to fight back as they poured the foul-tasting liquid into his mouth. It burned his throat as it went down, and his vision grew more blurry. Then, darkness took over his senses as he drifted into unconsciousness.

Legolas opened his eyes slowly, leaving them at a squint. Dimly, he realized that he was being carried, but for a moment, he could not remember why. Then, he remembered the foul tasting potion the Uruk-hai had given him before he had lost consciousness. It must have been a sleeping potion of a sort. He tried to move, but found he could not; his wrists and feet were once again tied. He didn't think he would have been able to move anyway, even if he had not been restrained. It was no longer raining, but his clothes were still damp. His muscles ached, and his breathing was uneven. He tried not to think about his throbbing wrist as he was jostled around.

Though it was not raining, Legolas heard thunder rumble in the distance. He moaned softly and coughed. His body no longer seemed to be on fire, but he still hurt like he had never felt before, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could survive such abuse.


	4. Who Waits Forever Anyway?

IV

Aragorn did not know how long he ran without stopping. When he passed a town, he immediately searched out a stable, and begged a horse from the stableman, promising payment later. At last, after Aragorn unknowingly had shed tears of desperation, rolling down his face unnoticed, the stable keeper agreed to the bargain, though figuring that he would never see the dirty, desperate man again.

All the terrain began to look the same after the first few days. He pushed himself more than he ever would have before; going through icy cold rain, trudging through mud, and climbing mountains. When his mount grew tired, he went to another stable and bargained to trade for a fresh mount. And with a new steed, he quickly made his way towards Imladris, stopping for nothing. All his thoughts were focused upon his friend, who had sacrificed all for him to have freedom. So focused was he, upon arriving in Imladris, that he did not realize he was driving himself to the point of exhaustion.

Any wounds that he had acquired while within the grasp of the Uruk-hai were forgotten. The burning red-yellow sun beat down upon his back and irritated his injuries, but he paid no heed. When he stumbled he would merely stand up once again, and the next moment he would forget that he had even fallen. He knew his horse must be just as weary as himself, and he often praised the horse, and gave him his own meals.

His stomach ached and begged for food, but he would usually have no more than a piece of dried meat or dried fruit for an entire day. There would be times when he simply wished to fall down and sleep, but he forced himself to continue on, thinking of Legolas, and how he would be faring even worse than himself. And with that thought in his mind, he rapidly made his way to the one place he called home.

When Aragorn first saw the gates of Imladris, he nearly fell off his mount with relief and fatigue. He hastily made his way through the winding road that led to the Last Homely House and wearily half fell off his horse when he arrived in the courtyard. At once, elves hurried around, calling to get Mithrandir and _Hir_ Elrond to the courtyard with no delay.

Aragorn leaned on his horse, half conscious and half in the realm of sleep. The horse snorted and nudged Aragorn softly as first came Elrond from a doorway and following closely behind him, Mithrandir. Elrond hurried over to him with a concerned look in his grey eyes. His keen gaze swept over his son's battered body and flicked back up to his eyes.

"_Mani marte?"_ he asked. "_Man le carel sí? Mas ha Legolas?"_

"We were captured. He was taken. He's gone. They took him."

And yet all hope is not yet lost.

"_Ú-Chenion_," said Elrond, confusion marring his fair features and clouding his eyes. "_Man? Manen?"_

"They ambushed us. There was no hope for our victory. On the second night, Legolas created a diversion. I escaped and came here."

Aragorn's voice was strangely flat as he told his tale.

Elrond stared at Aragorn with an odd feeling that Aagorn was leaving something out. Something vital.

"Aragorn." Elrond said his son's name slowly, using his true name. "What is it? What are you not telling me?"

Aragorn brought his own stormy grey-green, deadened eyes up to meet those of his foster fathers and suddenly, Elrond understood. "Where are they taking him?" he asked, though he already knew and hated the answer.

His son's eyes told him what words did not.

Mordor. Where the Shadows lie; Where all are condemned to die.

Gandalf understood as well, though if one were to look upon him they would not realize. His aged face and icy blue ices betrayed no emotion.

"_Mar bedithach_?" asked Aragorn.

Elrond stared at him. "On the morrow; at first light."

Aragorn inclined his head. "Very well, I shall be there." He turned to leave, but Elrond grabbed his arm. "You can barely walk! How can you expect to continue to ride with no rest? You are no good to anyone half-dead!"

"Exactly as I did before," the ranger replied shortly. Then switching to Elvish, he continued, "_Mas bedithach_? You need me. Besides that, I shall not abandon my friend to death. Or worse. He as good as gave his life for me. I coming whether it be your will or not."

For a brief moment, they were locked in a battle of wills before Elrond threw up his hands in a exasperated gesture. "I concede, nin-ion! You shall come, but at least let me see to your wounds before we begin our trek."

Aragorn had no choice, for as he took a step back, he fell unconscious.

__

_Darkness; voices. Cruel whips and pain._

"Drag'm over, maggot!"

_Poisonous fumes. Shadows. Nightmares._

"'E's awake, make'm run, fool!"

_Immortality. Is. A. Curse._

"Elves don't die easy. Don't worry 'bout killing him. 'E's survived this long, 'hasn't 'e?"

_Is my heart broken? Am I to be denied the one thing I crave: death? Must I survive?_

"Through'm in the cell!"

_Yes._

A stifling quiet. The prisoner in the dark cell seemed to hear noting but his own ragged breathing. The black fumes that surrounded him seemed to suffocate him. For a moment, the captive not only forgot why he was here, but also his own name. When awoken to the stifling darkness, his first thought had been that he had always been there, and his thoughts were evil. But then, he had remembered.

_I am a noble born prince._

From the silence around him, Legolas judged he was alone. Which meant Aragorn had escaped. Then he corrected himself; Strider had escaped. He knew not what evils thrived here, but for Aragorn's and Middle-earth's sakes, he would not even think of Isildur's heir for fear that Sauron could enter his mind. As he realized what would no doubt befall him here, a sort of cold sorrow clutched at his heart. No one would ever save him here.

_An man harthach?_ he asked himself. To which he replied, because that is his name.

He clenched his teeth. Every movement pained him so greatly that there would have been no difference if ten cruel Orcs, all whipping and beating him, surrounded him. The air was dense with sweat, blood and evil. He took in ragged breaths, determined not to let any tears fall. Yet, just as Estel inspired hope, Mordor inspired death and hopelessness. He would be doomed to perish here, though whether by becoming an Orc or finally getting the death he wished for, he did not know and what he had no control over, frightened him.

His blond tresses hung in clumps of blood and his entire body screamed with pain. Though a black despair hung around him and smothered his heart, somewhere, he knew, that he still hoped. Which was no doubt a folly for one captured in Mordor. But his thoughts clashed as he realized that even his hope seemed bleak. Yet even his hope seemed black. But he would stay strong for his friend, who was no doubt the reason Legolas was here. He must have been foolish enough to mention his name freely while within the vicinity of Orcs while in his home.

Suddenly Legolas jerked his head up.

Voices; distant at first but slowly growing louder. As they drew ever nearer, he decided that they were arguing. But then again, thought Legolas, wryly, when do they ever not argue?

At that moment, a door burst open, and though Mordor is a very dark place, it seemed brilliantly bright for a single heartbeat. This was only because Legolas had been in the pitch-black darkness. Now, however, the light of Mordor seemed even worse than the blackness of his cell because of the ominous dimness that seemed to penetrate the very air he breathed.

"Get up, elf!" snarled an Orc.

Legolas stayed kneeling on the ground with his head lowered. But as the Orc drew nearer, his bright silver eyes flicked up to meet the ugly, twisted eyes of the Orc who was called by the name of: "Drôkdush". For a moment, Drôkdush halted, locked in a tormented gaze with Legolas.

In those few moments as he stared into his prisoner's eyes, he almost remembered what it was like to not be the monster that he had become, but the next moment, he had forgotten that he had even had such thoughts. He growled with hatred at the prisoner before him. Then, grinning with pleasure at the thought of causing pain to the fair creature before him, he viciously grabbed the elf by his hair and yanked him up.

"Do as I tell you, creature!" he growled. "You will not like the consequences."

Legolas stumbled out from his cell. He was weak from the abuse that had rained upon him during the trek to Mordor and now even weaker from the very essence of evil which hovered around him.

_Who wants to live forever?_

"Get moving, elf! There'll be no procrastinating!"

_Not I._

"You'll get no where by standing there. MOVE!"

_Yet does anyone ever really have a choice? Is one ever allowed to simply choose death? Mortality? Fatality?_

Somehow, Legolas kept pace with the Orcs, who drove him ruthlessly, though with more than the occasional kick. And unquestionably more than the occasional curse.

_Nay._

"Where are you leading me?" Legolas half-growled at the Orcs. He had finally grown accustomed enough to the foul air to find the strength to speak without choking. He had spent most of the trek from his cell to his unknown destination finding the strength to merely breathe without coughing up his lungs. Or at least, that was how he felt. His entire body screamed with pain and disgust as he struggled to keep pace with his revolting captors. He hated feeling so weak and yet his body refused to respond to his mind. Every breath was a battle, and at every moment he felt he might die. Yet, to die meant release and life, and Legolas knew he would not be allowed such gifts for a long time yet.

"The Great Eye wishes to speak with you," Drôkdush snapped.

Despite the dead seriousness of the situation, Legolas grinned crookedly and remarked, "Mayhap one can speak to an eye, but I am curious as to how it replies. Where does the eye speak out of? And for that matter, how does It listen? One would think it would simply be the same as speaking to a wall?" Then, noting how Drôkdush had no reply, he continued, "Or with you..." Legolas struggled to keep the cocky grin on his face, determined not to let the Orcs know how much pain it was causing him. He clenched his fists as beads of sweat formed upon his brow.

Though deep in his heart Drôkdush held nothing but the deepest loathing for his Master, he took the insult personally because his prisoner was laughing at him.

"You'll find out how, elf!" he spat, saying the word elf as an epithet of the deepest hatred and scorn. "And I can guarantee that you will not enjoy it, let alone survive it!"

At this, the levity of the situation finally hit Legolas and his grin slipped off his face. He was going to speak with the "Great Eye". The "Great Eye" was Sauron.

Legolas was going to speak with the same Dark Lord who had taken over Middle-earth and was planning to do so again. The same Dark Lord who was trained by Morgoth. The same Sauron who was once called Gorthaur the Cruel. The same evil being who helped torture and mutilate Elves to become Orcs. Drôkdush suddenly thrust him into a large dark chamber. The doors slammed shut behind him.

_Who waits forever anyway?_

__

_Mani marte_? - What happened?  
_Man le carel sí_? - What are you doing here?  
_Mas ha_ Legolas? - Where is Legolas?  
_Ú-Chenion_ - I do not understand  
_Man?_ - When?  
_Manen_? - How?  
_Mar bedithach_? - When will you go?  
_Mas bedithach_? - Where will you go?  
_An man harthach_? - Why do you still hope?


	5. Meant to Fall

**_Hi, hullo! Collectively to all my reviewers, I'm really, really sorry this update took so long...we had FINALS at school (blech) and I had a lot of stuff going on and it was just REALLY hard to find time to update. I hope this chapter's worth the wait...for some reason this uploaded in Times New Roman font, don't ask. I personally like other fonts but technology is not my friend at the moment. I should live in a forest. _**

**_Much thanks to Maethril Aranel for her great amount of assistance on this chapter; you should read her stuff because they're good and she likes getting reviews. (Happy 89th Birthday Maethril Aranel)_**

**_Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien, therefore I do not own Lord of the Rings and I have hair. However, I do hear he liked pinecones...maybe that's a story for another time. The poem "Meant to Fall" belongs to a lovely person with a small monkey living on her head. _**

_**Sorry for the wait! Here's the next chappie. **_

Chapter 5: Meant to Fall

_I was never meant  
__To live forever  
__Only to see  
__A hopeless endeavor  
__I fought alone  
__Now give it all  
__A time to stand  
__A time to fall  
__Whilst shadows black  
__Are rising now  
__Enveloping  
__The silent boughs  
__A path so dark  
__So dark and steep  
__That even if the  
__Shadows would leave  
__I would be lost  
__And go afar  
__Lonely wanderer  
__A world apart  
__I can see now  
__I must give all  
__Long I stood  
__Now I must fall  
__As it was meant  
__The seer speaks  
__I walk my path  
__My path is bleak  
__In my mind  
__The shadows call  
__And I understand  
__I was meant to fall._

_-Sara D. Rivera_

"_Omen estel edain..." _

"_U-ehebin estel anim," _finished Aragorn. He turned and saw Elrond. The Elf-lord stood in his riding apparel, his horse behind him. His weapons were with him.

"Do you hold so little hope?" asked Elrond softly. "Legolas had hope and faith in you. Otherwise, you would not be here."

"Maybe I should not be here," said Aragorn, bitterly. "It's not fair that I should be gazing upon Imladris, while he continues to be in their evil clutches." Anger burned in his eyes. Imladris was beautiful before him, and that angered him for some reason.

"Estel, have faith," said Elrond, his eyes searching Aragorn's. "You were named Estel for a reason. Legolas trusts you, as do we all."

Distant hoof beats met his ears. Soon, a dark-haired Elf came into view, his eyes glittering with a strange emotion. It was Elladan. He, too, looked prepared for battle.

"Adar. Estel." He inclined his head. "We are prepared. We await your command at the gate." He said no more, but turned and rode back.

Aragorn's face now held a determined look. He climbed atop his horse as Elrond did the same. Aragorn nodded his head.

"I am ready."

Elrond smiled at his foster son. They followed the path which Elladan had taken. The battle had now begun.

* * *

Darkness. 

Legolas raised a hand and waved it in front of his face. Nothing; he saw nothing. He took a tentative step forward.

Suddenly, a light appeared. A small flickering flame. Legolas stepped towards it, strangely compelled. Just as he made it, the light disappeared. He broke free of the spell. Something touched his foot. Not thinking, he reached down and picked up a cold circular stone. He was surprised by its weight, and had to hold it with both hands. It felt like the finest marble. A small, flickering flame appeared inside of it, and Legolas, with a sickening revelation, realized what it was.

_A Palantir. _

With a startled cry, Legolas tried to drop it, but it was too late. It was enveloped in flames...and Legolas found the same thing happening to him. They consumed his every nerve and his mind. Through the pain, he heard the terrible voice.

_Who is Isildur's heir? Where does he dwell? _

Legolas closed his thoughts. Then, slowly, he responded through his own mind.

_He does not exist, servant of evil. _

_Where is he?! Tell me! You will tell me in the end. I will break you! _

_He. Does. Not. Exist. _

A terrible paroxysm of pain overtook him, and he knew no more.

* * *

Three days now they had been riding—three long days. Aragorn's wounds were healing well enough, but at time he would experience small bursts of pain, and each time this happened all he could think of was the pain Legolas was going through. 

They had been keeping a steady pace and now arrived at the town of Rhosgobel. This would be their last stop for awhile, because they could not afford to rest, and needed to make haste. The Elves felt uncomfortable going into the town of men, for they were often greeted with hostility and suspicion in such places. Therefore Aragorn went in to buy provisions.

Despite the fact that they were traveling as quickly as possible, the worry lingered in Aragorn's mind that they would not make it in time. Three days now Legolas had been held prisoner in the depths of Mordor, and though Aragorn felt in his heart that the elf was still alive, he knew not how long it would remain so. What evil would befall him? What had already befallen him?

_He will make it through, _Aragorn told himself. _If there is one being in Arda that can make it through this, it is Legolas. _

However, these thoughts were beginning to seem like no more than false notions and unrealistic hopes. Mordor was still a good two weeks away—if they rode nonstop through day and night. Much could happen in that time period. Also, Aragorn was beginning to doubt that anything would happen as they planned. Even if Legolas was alive, once they got to Mordor, what could a small party of elves and himself do against an entire host of Orc, under the perpetual gaze of the Great Eye? Aragorn knew that Sauron hunted him; walking into Mordor would be like delivering to the dark lord the thing he had been seeking for much time. There would be no turning back. Yet in his heart, Aragorn knew that he had to do this.

Aragorn made as little conversation as possible with the inhabitants of Rhosgobel and remained withdrawn. He purchased food and drink, and a map—just in case. He then returned to the camp they had set up just outside of the town in a small patch of wood.

That night was darker than any Aragorn had ever experienced. He slept fitfully, weaving in and out of troubled dreams in which he could hear Legolas calling his name.

_I have to have hope. I have to, for him. He has faith in me. _

Aragorn and Legolas had always been friends—no, more than friends. Legolas was like his brother. And though they were so different, they were also very much the same, like two halves of a whole, and they needed each other. He had to go; he could not forsake Legolas' need.

Aragorn only hoped that he would not be too late.

* * *

_I _will _break you. _

Every time he spoke, there was pain. It was like a ruthless, merciless monster, tearing and clawing through into the deepest parts of his very mind. It felt as though a thousand sharpened steel swords were piercing his heart. It was everywhere, and the eye was within him, ensnaring his soul. At times during the struggle Legolas would fall unconscious, yet even then, Sauron was puzzled and frustrated. He could not read the elf's thoughts. Then, when Legolas would wake, the suffering would be immediate. The dark lord would send forth bursts of power in which each attack would be more painful then the previous one and slowly work away at the little willpower the elf had left.

_I can sense your weakness, your frailty, your pain..._

His ringing laughter was like the cold touch of death itself. It reverberated throughout Legolas' mind, a cruel mockery of his struggle. There was no comfort. Because of the circumstances, because he had to completely close his mind, Legolas could not even reach into his memory and look into Estel's eyes for a small sign of hope, a reminder as to why he was doing this. But there was no reassurance that he could look to. His heart, his soul, his mind...everything was crashing down and wracked with pain. He felt as though he had been pushed to the utmost limit. Once he reached the end, there would be no turning back.

He wanted so badly to just let it all go. The struggle, the pain, it was like a burden that could not be lifted. But he could not give in. For his friends, his father, for all whom he held dear, he had to fight...or else, it was all for nothing. He may be weak, he may be falling and surrounded by darkness and at the same time burning red, but Legolas knew that he had to be strong.

_You all fall eventually. _

_You sense my weakness, _Legolas thought, mockingly, putting forth nonexistent courage and challenging his enemy. He was only barely clinging to life. He knew that he could not defeat Sauron by the power of his will or of his broken body, but he could still fight until the very end. He had to. _You say that you sense my frailty. As you sense my pain, lord Sauron, so do I sense your frustration. _

For a brief moment, a mere fraction of a second, the dark lord hesitated. Legolas knew then that what he had said was true. Something was strange about his mind, different, and it was confusing to his enemy. His attacks were doing nothing and eating away at Legolas' will only very slowly. Then, the silence was gone. Sauron chuckled slowly. The voice came back, not spoke slowly, menacingly, dripping with contempt.

_Not even the strongest beings of this earth can hold out forever, princeling. _

Suddenly, it began again. Only this time, Sauron was using everything-- all of his power. The flames seemed to grow in both size and intensity before Legolas' eyes. They enveloped him. He knew that he was screaming, that he was crying, and that his body was going through terrible convulsions, but all of that seemed so distant and unreal. All that we could see was red. Legolas could feel the heat, and searing pain that came with it. Everything before had been a living nightmare. All the pain, the suffering, was a nightmare that had become the horrible reality. But this...this surpassed nightmares. If there was a way to describe it, it would be that the elf felt as though he were being torn apart from the inside out.

_Who is he?! _Sauron demanded. _I know that he exists, and that somewhere in your mind you know his name! Tell me; let me ease your passing!_

The darkness was closing in. It was different from the dark of night, from the darkness of the fathomless deeps of the oceans, from the black of a shadow-- it was the black of death. The oblivion of total nothingness.

Death was near at hand and Legolas could feel it calling to him.

_It will all be over...you can end it now, the pain the suffering...only one word, that is all I ask, and I will release to the death you so desperately wish for..._

Sauron was taunting him. He was offering Legolas the peace that the elf longed for, the end of all the suffering. But then, if he gave in now, wouldn't it all have been for nothing?

Legolas could not seek the comfort of his mind. His thoughts were completely closed. However, he did find something he did not expect, something that he had never known...a peace in his heart, strength, something telling him to hold on. It was a different kind of strength than that which comes from the mindset of regular combat. He did not need his mind for this. All he needed was the pain, which abounded plenty.

The pain was all it took to remind him.

_I have never taken the easy way out. _

Legolas knew that he had to do this. It would most likely kill him, but death was far from the worst fate he could think of at the moment. This was his only chance before everything deteriorated. The elf knew what it meant-- he would never again see Estel, or his father, his friends, never again feel the touch of grass or gaze upon the light of the stars, never again lift cool water to his lips or sing or fight beside his kinsmen.

_Who wants to live forever? _

So much life and so much death. In the end, it was no more than another passing, just like the passing over the sea. Was there life beyond it? Maybe. Legolas supposed that he would know soon enough. For as long as he could remember, ever since the days had been young and the trees in Mirkwood had blossomed with flower and with life, the prince of Mirkwood had been unselfish, and said that he would willingly give his life for those he loved, for his friends, for anyone. That bond of friendship and brotherhood could not be forsaken now. Now, at the brink of destruction, was when it mattered the most.

_I am a noble born prince, _Legolas heard his heart tell him. _In me runs the blood of the valiant and unyielding. I now guard a secret that cannot be revealed, and even unto my ending, it will not be revealed...not by me. _

So the prince of Mirkwood fought back. He called upon inner strength, the strength that had run through him and kept him alive for so many years-- he called upon all of it now. He brought back from ages of memories the courage and bravery of his forefathers. Now was when Legolas needed them, their counsel, their guidance, of all those who had stood their ground before him. He could feel Sauron pushing and tearing...now he pushed back.

Sauron was surprised by the counterattack. Somewhere, far in the distance, Legolas could feel himself rising to his feet. His hands, his feet...though they were broken and painful, he took reassurance in the fact that he could feel again.

"You will learn NOTHING!" he cried...with his own voice. It sounded so strong and strangely unlike his own. The flames began to ebb, and he could see Sauron beginning to draw back. The eye was in his hands again. It was a smooth, black stone, and he held it between bloodied hands. Once again, Legolas could see the Palantir.

_Only a seeing-stone. Nothing more. He can see, he can hurt me and weaken me and taunt me, but he cannot control me. I bear the strength of those who came before me and I fight for those I love. No one controls me. _

"Know this, Sauron," Legolas said bitterly. "You could not conquer me. And while there are still others on this earth with strength and faith, you will not conquer them either. You may have the power of brute force and bear the darkness of evil and despair, but there are forms of power that are hidden, and someday, someday, they will defeat you."

Legolas heard a roar of frustration and anger from his enemy. The Palantir shook in his hands, yet still he could not drop it. Sauron tried to re-launch the attack, but Legolas closed himself to it, and blocked it off with sheer willpower. He would _not _let it take him again. This was it-- the last push, the final stand. This was everything. Thoughts and memories that had been held back were now running through Legolas' mind. He needed them. It was all confused, a jumbled blur, but it mattered not. It was enough.

Sauron's attempt to regain control was weak and lost. However, it did have an effect; one that Legolas would remember all his life.

When the dark lord's guard went down, the power of his attacks seemed to backfire. The scenes in Legolas' mind began to move faster, and there were flashes of things that he did not recognize. There were emotions, very intense emotions...at one point, he thought he felt joy, but then he recognized the feeling as that of triumph, not of joy. Feelings that come with the sweet taste of victory, but these images did not hold true happiness. It dawned on the elf what was happening.

_These are not my memories. _

_A land far away, more beautiful than the shores of Valinor and the farthest reaches of Middle-Earth, with golden sunshine and a perpetual white glow of happiness and perfection. A chorus with heavenly voices that were raised high in joy and praise. The realm of Illúvatar, the home of the Valar and the Maiar... _

_Discord in the chorus...treachery revealed and cast aside..._

_An uncontrollable lust for power, and instruction and training in dark ways...a fall from grace..._

_The feel of cold, black armor while preparing for battle. The fierce taste of victory. The satisfying sound of a prisoner's last cry preceding their death before their captor's eyes...the knowledge that you are unstoppable..._

_A sword, broken, wielded one last time...Long years of unbearable weakness..._

_Whispers of prophecies fulfilled..._

_Isildur's heir has returned..._

_Darkness. _

Legolas gritted his teeth and shut his eyes. The thoughts, the memories, the emotions, they were far too much. With much struggle, he managed to close his mind to any more...but Sauron's memories were now, inevitably, his forever. He would carry them in his mind for as long as he lived. Legolas felt, however, that the rest of his life would not be very long.

Sauron looked at Legolas one last time. If possible, there was more hate now in the eye, in the flames that wreathed it, than ever before. Then, in a flash of red light, the Dark Lord of Mordor was gone.

The Palantir dimmed. It became no more than a plain, smooth black stone, with a dull red glow at its core. Legolas felt it slip from his hand and go rolling across the floor. At some point, he had stood, and now his legs buckled beneath him and his broken body collapsed into a heap on the cold stone ground. Sauron was gone, but the darkness lingered. Yet now there was a sweetness to it...a far off chorus, singing, calling...

Memories of Legolas' life turned in his mind as his eyes dimmed and he welcomed the darkness.

* * *

_**Omen estel edain **(I give hope to men.)_

_**U-ehebin estel anim **(I keep none for myself.)_


	6. Betrayal

It was not the pain that awoke him, nor the sound, but the light—the brilliant light that burned at his eyelids. His hand involuntarily clenched, gripping at the soft fabric that covered his body and, for a moment, Legolas briefly wondered why it hurt so when he attempted to move his legs. Then, realization struck and his eyes shot open. The prince immediately regretted the action as the light of _Anor_ burned his eyes greatly. How odd that the light he had dreamt of, for so long, would at last come to him and only cause him more pain than the darkness.

_Do you still mock me, lord of darkness?_

He risked opening his eyes to slits. It was unnaturally bright… unnaturally white. He was greeted with the whiteness of the walls, of the bed and of the sun. Such beautiful light that only ever seemed to shine in one place: Imladris.

The archer's eyes ached and yearned to shut so that he might find more slumber and relief from the light he was no longer used to. Yet he forced himself to keep his eyes open. He forced himself to remember.

Darkness. Mordor. Estel.

Clear thought pierced through his still asleep mind.

_Estel_.

_Had he given up Estel's secret?_ He calmed himself down. No. Of course he had not… he would know by now. Sauron would have already killed Estel, and Legolas would no longer be alive either. He would not be tormented by the same light that he had once longed for and dreamt of.

A dark-haired elf stepped into the room, his raven coloured locks contrasting deeply with the white wall behind him. His eyes narrowed just as Legolas' had upon being greeted with the sight of the room. Elladan's eyes, however, did not narrow in defiance to the sun, but rather in repulsion.

"Elladan?" Legolas struggled to remember how it was that he came to be Imladris. "How did… did you bring me back? Where is Estel?"

"Traitor."

"I do not understand…" Legolas rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse. Or was it from screaming?

"How dare you speak to me as though naught has happened," said the son of Elrond softly, as though trying to disguise his pain. "How dare you still be alive…" His voice broke and it took a moment before Elladan began to speak again, his voice frigid yet filled with heartbreak and betrayal. All of his emotions betrayed in a single word… a single syllable.

"Why?"

Legolas stared into the half-elf's eyes, attempting to decipher what Elladan was speaking of. What had he done? _What had he done?_

"I don't…" He faltered. "I do not understand. I—"

"_You_ are a traitor. Did he mean so little to you, Prince Legolas? Was it because he was mortal, or because _you_ were too good for him?"

Legolas desperately wanted to ask who, wanted to understand. But memories which should have long by now filled his mind with regret of a betrayal, left much to be desired. He was not foolish. From the hostile and betrayed look on the face of Elladan, the use of the word 'mortal', Legolas knew there could be only one person the son of Elrond was speaking of. Estel.

Had he killed him? Had he broken his promise and forsaken his honor? Had he given the ranger away to a fate that no one deserved, least of all him? Had Legolas done the unforgivable and fallen so far that he had given his brother to the Dark Lord? Such thoughts made him sick, and yet, there could be no other answer.

"Elladan, I truly know naught of what you speak. Where is Estel?"

"Do you seek to mock me, prince of betrayal and deceit?" The son of Elrond stiffened against the door frame, his voice dripping in disdain. "How dare you speak of Estel's name after what you have done!" Elladan was fairly shaking in anger.

Suddenly the light no longer shone so brightly and Legolas' eyelids were no longer so heavy. His whole body went cold with fear as terror gripped at his heart and choked off his voice. He suddenly found it hard to breathe and even harder to speak. What had he done? How could he have betrayed Estel when their friendship had been what had kept him alive? And why did he have no memory past that of the day?

"Elladan…" His voice broke off. He struggled to make out the next words. "Mani… marte?"

If possible, when Elladan spoke next, the words he spat held even greater contempt than before. "Do not speak thus, prince. That tongue has no place in the mouth of one who deserves the title traitor. And do not play games with me. I do not understand why you did what you did—" The dark-haired elf's voice broke off as he struggled to regain his equilibrium. When he spoke again, his voice was deadly calm. "I do not understand why you would betray Estel to Sauron, but the fact remains that you did."

Legolas felt his stomach and heart drop. The chill that had gripped his body before compared nothing to what he felt now. Tears of despair pricked at his eyes like needles and the pain of what had been said pierced his heart greater than any sword could have. He felt as though the weight of the ocean had fallen upon his heart in a great wave. The light of _Anor_ diminished greater in this darkness than even the darkness of Mordor. He had betrayed Estel with a single word, a single name.

_Erú, no. Please. Not this. Anything but this. _

The light dimmed before him as the world grew hazy. He did not allow himself to fall unconscious. He did not allow blessed darkness to encompass his mind and drown his heart. To do so would to allow himself a fate kinder than he deserved. The breath's he drew in were not involuntary; Legolas suddenly became very aware of the need to breathe… and of the desire to stop. He unclenched his now shaking hands… hands that seemed now to have a life of their own—hands that now ached and lusted for the chance to caress the knife he saw at Elladan's waist. Or at least to allow the knife to caress his skin… to let the tainted crimson life force flowing through his body to fall. To disappear along with the life of his brother…

His brother whom he betrayed.

_What have I done? _

_

* * *

_

Twilight had just barely covered the dark forest in her dusky cloak. The dancing shadows of branches flickered across the wooden bridge. Trickling with soft, delicate sounds, the clear river gently caressed the banks of the shore, carrying along leaves that had fallen from the trees above. It seemed a melancholy song drifted through the trees. The light of day gradually faded away, leaving darkness to reign. The light of the newly risen moon shone brightly in this part of the Wood. Silhouetted on the bridge stood a tall figure. He held himself proudly and with the air of nobility, yet the aura that surrounded him was that of sadness. Golden locks of long hair softly blew against his face in the slight breeze and sharp azure eyes pierced through the night. The cloak and hood drew up over his head moved just enough that the delicately pointed tips of ears could be seen.

This elf was the King of Sindar Elves and the reason this Elven King stood alone on the wooden bridge was because his son lay alone in Mordor and, by Erú, he would save him. He would not allow his son to die in Mordor. He would not allow his son to die _anywhere_. Immortal the prince was, and immortal he would stay.

Thranduil stepped soundlessly off the bridge and leapt atop his horse.

_"Noro lim!" _

The sound of horses and the silhouettes of their riders appeared from out the trees as a company of elves rode hard towards the one place in Middle-earth that none would ever wish to see.

* * *

The voice of Elladan broke through his torment. 

"I do not understand why Father treated you, why he allowed you to live, but I do wish you to know that you are NEVER welcome here again. I suggest you leave now, before I kill you myself. I don't know how you can live with yourself, but leave, and may the Valar have more mercy on you than you had on Estel, blood-traitor."

With these harsh words, Elladan turned and left the room Legolas desperately wanted to call after them, to ask what crime he had committed… but, damn it! He could not remember anything… he could not remember giving Estel away, he could not even remember being rescued. How long had it been? How long had he lain in slumber as Estel lay in the eternal death?

He forced himself to stand up, ignoring the pain the shot through every muscle in his body. Grimacing as he pulled on his clothes, Legolas slipped from the room, wondering the same thing as Elladan: Why did Elrond treat Legolas? Was it perhaps so that he could suffer more—knowing what he had done to his brother? He ran across the corridor to the stable, his footsteps silent. He did not bother to wipe away the tears as he collapsed against the wall once he had reached the stable.

_What had he done?_

The prince drew in sharp, hungry gasps for air as the grief overwhelmed his heart. The ocean was here to stay this time, to drown him, to choke him. And he deserved no less. Estel was dead. He was dead. Legolas had betrayed him… and he could not even remember. He wanted to throw something, to hurl his pain far, far away. As far away as possible.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to sob. He wanted the earth to swallow him up—to swallow his grief up. He wanted to die. But most of all, Legolas just wanted to see Estel… just one more time. Just so that he could say sorry, though the words seemed so inadequate that just thinking them made Legolas feel foolish.

The tears would not stop coming. It was as though the same ocean that covered his heart also supplied his tears. Yet Legolas knew he could never touch upon the bottomless well of grief that now rested in his heart. He knew that no matter how many tears he cried, he would never fill the empty void that now made up his heart and soul. He was empty. He destroyed his soul in the same moment he had destroyed Estel.

And the worse part was, he could not even remember the moment he betrayed and killed his mortal brother. Legolas could not remember the greatest and worst moment of his immortal life. This could not possibly be real.

This had to be some sort of trick of Sauron's… Pain shot through his mind. Nay… this was no trick. Pain was not real in dreams. This is pain was all too real.

It was the pain of betrayal, and Legolas was the betrayer. He thought back to the words Elladan had spoken to himself. One word in particular stood out. He could not doubt the verity of it.

He was, in every meaning of the word, a traitor.

* * *

The sound of restless horses reached the silhouette's ears. 

The figure stood before a blood-red setting sun, his eyes and heart determined. He would find him.

He would save his friend, just as his friend had saved him so many times before.

* * *

Somewhere, deep in the dark bowels of the earth, the foulest being in existence exulted vindictively; his plan would succeed. His plan had to succeed.


	7. Fabric of the Night

A/N: I would just like to give thanks to my beta Maethril Aranel and state that I obviously don't own Lord of the Rings any more than I own… say, that folder sitting over the corner of my room. (The folder does, in fact, belong to Maethril Aranel. Heh.)

**Chapter 7: Fabric of the Night**

"Hope is not so easily forsaken, my lord."

_Perhaps your heart can still bathe in the light of hope, my friend, _thought Thranduil. _But each day, my son's hope dwindles into nothing. Each day, my son is closer to death. Each day, _I_ am closer to learning of my son's fate. _But he said naught of this. It would be in vain. Though the captain had also known Legolas since his birth, he had a family of his own. He had a healthy, perfectly safe family. The direness of the situation would never fully reveal itself to him.

"So says he that lives in the light of optimism. I've no delusions, _mellon_-_nín_. Each day that we draw nearer to Mordor, the prince draws nearer to death. His immortality, I fear, will come to an abrupt halt if we do find a way to arrive soon… sooner that we anticipated." With each word, Thranduil withdrew more and more into the role of the strategist, of the captain. For a brief time, he could remove himself from the problem and scrutinize from the "privileged perspective", as his father had called it. This meaning that he would be examining the problem from an outsider's perspective; the viewpoint of one whose fate was not interwoven with the "problem".

"We follow your word, my liege. You know that we have the endurance to continue in the dark—and the ability. At your command, we will continue."

The captain's voice was determined. He brushed back his long, dark hair as he spoke, his slender fingers unintentionally touching his warrior braids. The movement brought Thranduil's own hands fidget at his sides, casually touching the hilt of his sword. A sword that, he hoped, would soon be cleaving Orcs as he brought his son home. The thought of his son's torment in Mordor was almost too much to bear; it made him sick. He could not help but feel that this was partly his fault.

His son was dying, if not already dead.

Thranduil, the last Elven King in Middle-earth, Captain of the Royal Army, felt so helpless. He could do nothing to help his dying son. Why had Erú visited this upon one so innocent? Where was infinite compassion now? Thranduil shook his head. Blaming anyone, least of all Erú, was not going to help. It seemed all he _could_ do was pray… and pray he would. As the footsteps of his friend faded from his hearing, he tilted his head back to gaze into the night sky. Clouds covered most the stars, yet one stood out. He silently thanked Varda and implored Ilúvatar's compassion upon his son. His lips, pale with grief and terror for Legolas, began to move silently.

"_Anno nin estel, Erú…"_

The elvish prayer faded into darkness; the last and only star had just been hidden behind the ominous clouds. The sound became deadened in the cold night air.

The night was still and dark. The figure was cloaked in shadow and his presence would have imperceptible in the blackness save for the subtle movements that broke through the stillness.

_And now you are shown for what you truly are. A creature of the night._

He wished he could shake his head—deny the voice. But he couldn't. The prince breathed in the darkness. He allowed it to encompass his heart, to intoxicate his mind. He exhaled the breath, allowing his soul to intertwine with the darkness. By welcoming the darkness, he was able to bury his pain in the shadows of the night. Not his physical pain, nay. The pain that lay deep in his heart; the pain that came only as a result of a broken heart. The darkness was not intrinsic to the night, but to his heart. At the moment Legolas was told of Estel's death, of his, Legolas', part in the death, the day became night. A starless night… a void that threatened to engulf him.

_Betrayal._

The voice _was_ darkness; a cruel darkness, not like the consoling, forgiving darkness that filled his soul. It seemed to whisper harshly in his ears, yet also seemed to come from inside his heart. The words came like a cat: stealthy, deadly graceful, independent… and yet innate. After a few days of journeying, the elven prince had inured himself to it.

_Deception._

He could no longer deduce reality from his nightmares. Doubt constantly plagued his mind, with persistence equal to that of the sun rising and setting. He tried to ignore the tears that continued to prick at his eyes, tried to ignore the grief in his heart that threatened to destroy him. It threatened to swallow him in the raging and furious waters of anguish. He had betrayed his brother; he could not remember, he did not know why he would do an act so tainted with evil. His brother was _dead._ And he could do nothing. He was utterly powerless in the game of torment.

"Erú… why?"

His voice was raspy; these were the first words he had spoken in days, though he had replayed them in his mind constantly. The words, thick with held back tears, bled into the night; into the stillness… into the dark of the world he had made his own. He had embraced it, allowed it to become a part of him. Legolas had brought himself to hover on the cusp of the point of no return. Redemption lay behind him, shadow before him. _Are you even listening to the cries of your wretched creature?_ asked Legolas of Ilúvatar. His faith in everything good was slowly dwindling as he lost himself to the night.

_Only when you have wholly embraced the darkness can you become the night. You are weak; you linger in the light, believing you are the dark. Give yourself to me and the darkness shall shield you from pain._

Eyes that had not yet lost their light to despair flicked up through the darkness, their gaze landing on the shadowed branch above. The voice that spoke inveigled him to quench the light that lingered still within his heart. The darkness that surrounded him was ecstasy, was despair. Which was it? Where could the line be drawn? Where would the line be drawn? Estel had said many times that there was always hope. Yet Legolas could see no other alternative to the void that lay before him. What did it matter what Estel said? He was dead. He was dead and Legolas had killed him.

_Now tell me, you _did_ kill the heir of Isildur? "Estel"?_

The words abruptly and unexpectedly jerked Legolas back to Mordor. To Sauron. Nay, he would say naught.

_I can take away your pain; you need only tell me and I, as darkness, can wash over your hurt heart. I can bring you peace—just confess: you killed Estel, the heir of Isildur._

_Estel._ He obstinately refused to answer. Estel was not the heir of Isildur.

_Why do you hesitate to embrace me?_

The voice lost its inebriating quality. Instead, it mordantly hissed in his hearts. The song of the darkness now became a cacophony of pain. It rang in his ears, merging with echoes of memories of times long past. Estel, promising him hope. Sauron, promising him pain. Elladan, promising revenge. The voice, so recent, promising him peace but bringing him pain. Blessed pain that could take his mind away from the torment of betrayal. Hideous pain that brought him to the door of death.

_So this is where ecstasy becomes despair_, thought Legolas briefly, drawing back.

Into nothing.

And yet all he could think was that his sentence, given by Lord Elrond, would be cut short.

_-Flashback-_

"_Do you seek to flee?"_

_The voice was soft and came unexpectedly. Had the prince been able to bring himself to care, he probably would have jumped from the surprise. However, being startled seemed now very trivial to him compared to betrayal. He slowly turned his head, his voice coming out thick with held back tears and grief. His answer surprised him._

"_Nay. To flee from such an act would be cowardice beyond even a traitor. I am not so low yet, my lord."_

_The word 'yet' hung in his mind, like ominous clouds hang over the land before a storm of consequence occurs. He had not intended to put that word in… but there it was. And, desire to though he did, Legolas could not take back words that had been said any more than could he undo a betrayal. _

_When Lord Elrond next spoke, his voice was laced with pity. He condescendingly spoke to him, as one addressing such a worthless and hopeless being that one loses all repulsion and can feel only shame. The compassionate voice, so earnest, only added to the guilt that Legolas felt. He did not deserve such compassion. Not when he dealt death to one more innocent than he. _

"_You are wondering what will become of you."_

_The half-elf's words were not phrased in a question; it was statement. Legolas felt no dire need to reply. He knew Elrond would continue on his own time. After a few moments of silence, where Legolas stared at the wooden wall before him, and rustled some of the hay he had thrown himself upon, Elrond spoke again._

"_No punishment, no consequence, nothing can fit such a crime, such a betrayal as what you have committed. No words can describe what significance your act has done. Your sentence can be only to live out your life in miserable existence; no elf, nor elf-friend can speak to you or give you haven. Should you attempt to, you will stripped of any dignity you have left. This is not a nightmare, Legolas, son of Thranduil; this is real. Please do not show your face in this haven of elves again."_

_The words were enough punishment by themselves. Elrond knew Legolas too well. A quick death would not fit such an act of betrayal. Only when Legolas could think over what he had done, every day of eternity, would Estel's life be avenged._

_Legolas cast his head down in utter shame and devastation as he left the darkness of the stables. He would be given no horse. Legolas heard Elladan walk up behind his father and speak softly. _

"_How could you simply let him go after what he has done?"_

_The voice that demanded an answer was filled with misery and determination. Yet the anger that revealed itself through a tone that brooked no argument was belied by the tears that shone in the sorrowful eyes. _

_Such were the last words that Legolas heard as he fled from the Last Homely House. He would find no peace there… he would find no peace anywhere. He was an exile to life itself. Lord Elrond's compassionate voice rang in his mind like his footsteps rang against the bridge._

"_This is not a nightmare, Legolas, son of Thranduil; this is real."_

_-End flashback-_

The archer plummeted from the tree on which he had been perched precariously. He closed his eyes, as though it made a difference.

It didn't.

The darkness had already consumed him.


	8. Shadows and Light

_VIII Shadows and Light_

He opened his eyes, but was met with darkness. For a moment, he wove frantically between dream and life, balanced as on the edge of a blade. Then, the horizon, tinged grey, came into his vision. The same grey he had woken to for the past fortnight, the grey of ashes, the grey of death.

The barren land that lay before him seemed to beckon, and he, laid bare before his own heart, seemed barely able to ignore the summons of the endless sight before him, behind him, beside him… his redemption had not yet even begun.

His feet began to move, almost of their own volition, just as they had been doing day after day after endless night. The darkness remained no longer a separate, terrifying entity; it no longer devoured him as it had that first desperate night, as he fought for the right to live, to exist as a child of the light.

Such a notion, now, seemed almost laughable—if he could only still think, or smile, or live, or love. As it were, or as it had become, days drifted into nights and nights blurred the fine line between his darkness and his light, and those shades of grey—all separate and novel, and repetitive and mind-numbing. Soon drifting together and mingling, like an opus of paints too thin and diluted with water, as the colours begin to run together and, soon, the painting is no longer even recognizable.

It began slowly, those shades of grey. First as he noticed the brittleness of his bones, the way he began to feel… old? And the void of thought, as life ceased to be spontaneous and instead became monotonous and mechanic, as opinion ceased to pass judgment on the desolate land—as the austere terrain failed to instigate judgment. Then, in the tightness of his throat, as the lyrical sounds could no longer make it past, to form words and create songs and dreams with the manipulation of sound.

The silent screams that punctured his heart each night left the stillness of the land intact, even as his light footsteps left no imprint on the dead earth—footsteps as light as a ghost, as a spirit, as soft and subtle as a silhouette of his former self.

He was a shadow running from the darkness, longing for light, as surely as the light would destroy him. An empty shell running from a betrayal, seeking redemption and falling further from hope. He was a song silenced, a dream crushed, a hope despaired; he was a vessel of nothing, searching for something and searching for nothing, finding neither and unaware of the hunt.

Yet, even in the stillness of the stale air, the dead air, surrounded and filled with greyness; even as a very shadow against the scorching, shimmering air before him, he longed, secretly, so very clandestinely, for something to shatter the unbroken quiet.

For the silence sang and spoke and breathed and taunted and filled him with despair each day, until his eyes dulled and his steps fell with increasing urgency and his soul screamed with envy for the freedom of the silence, for the light that eluded his vision and heart and desperation. And the silence resounded in his forlorn, caged soul; for he was trapped within himself, imprisoned behind bars of ivory, where even the beating of his heart was absorbed, stilled, and forgotten, until he did not know if he was alive, or merely a shadow chasing… chasing, chasing… nothing.

Was he pursuing redemption or fleeing the perspicacity of the just?

And still the question eluded him in the stifling silence, as the stillness resonated so soundly throughout his hollow core that he felt that, surely, it would rest within his heart, to beat against the ivory prison until it, too, absorbed, but within the tissue of his heart—a final quiescent peace for both his mind and soul.

But the eternal sleep of a peaceful heart evaded him just as surely as did the answers to his questions, the light to his darkness, the shattering of the silence and the imprint of his footsteps on the earth—that he might know that he was real, that he existed, that he had a right to live, and that his life mattered at all.

Yet some primal urge prodded him to run faster and faster, harder and harder, and longer for each day, until he ran throughout the nights and the days and the days and the nights, perhaps hoping to find tranquility.

Instead, he found that he became more a shadow every day, until he passed through the night like a whisper, his presence a mere vapor amidst the mirage of shimmering, dancing igneous air, like a breath of wind, or a vapid passing dream.

And, he found, that much as he desired—if he only could still desire—he could not cease this phrenetic flight.

And, so, he ran.

* * *

The elven king moved fluidly from form to form, almost seeming to be one with the glinting silver blade he held in his hands. His dark blue eyes, reflecting the silver of the blade from within his own eyes, shone with reigned anger and icy resilience. His sword sliced sharply through the brisk morning air, wielded with otherworldly grace, as though the blademaster were in a dance with an unseen partner—each step and movement done with deadly precision. 

Abruptly, the elf ceased movement.

For a moment, silence reigned throughout the wood, before another elf appeared from beyond the trees.

"My king?"

More silence. Then, "_Ay_. We continue on."

"Yes, Captain. …The dawn portends ill weather for the futurity of our mission. The trees cry out with forbiddance…"

"I am aware of that, " interrupted Thranduil, laconically.

"Unless my King objects," said Curuon, grimacing at his previous mistake, "then the Company is prepared to take leave."

Returning his gaze to his blade, the elven king paused for a moment, perhaps captured in a mental debate that would not dare display itself across his face, or hard azure eyes. For a moment, he stood motionless, almost seeming to fade in and out of sight before the backdrop of trees. At last, he spoke, his long slender fingers pale as they gripped the hilt of his sword with a fierceness belied by the seeming indifference in his eyes and the neutral tone of his words.

"The prince lives… but barely."

Curuon raised his eyes from the leaves that littered the forest floor—the consequence of an early autumn.

"Each day, each night… I feel his connection Arda fade away, and, even as we draw nearer to Mordor, I feel him slipping from life. I fear that winter may come to collect the leaves before summer has had her chance to ripen the green leaves for autumn, to mature and adhere to her branches. I fear we go, not into a battle, but a massacre.

"I will not lead these immortal lives into death; I will not see them broken."

Yet though his words were vehement, he gazed sadly into the far away horizon, from beyond the trees.

"I will not let my son die. Yet, will I battle merely to find him in a state worse than death, with winter's chill etched into his eyes and flowing through his veins like poison?"

For a moment, Curuon said nothing as he gazed almost absently upon the decaying leaves beneath his feet.

"Captain… Your son is… Legolas is our prince, our warrior, and our heart. His life flows through not only his own veins, as you know, and yours, but through the trees and every living being of light beneath and within those boughs of our home. If even his spirit has dulled, and his heart been torn asunder by such darkness that we cannot fathom, he will be whole again, this I swear to you. For as long as he is broken, so, too, are we. So long as blood flows through our veins, and light through the heart of the forest, he shall know life again. We do not forsake him in this, his and our darkest hour, because he needs us and we need him."

"Never," said Thranduil, "shall I forsake hope where my son is concerned, for as truly as you say he lives within every creature the forest, so, too, do I live within him. If I must see the winter take the buds of spring, at least I shall see that he be shown the beauty of life at least once more, that he may witness the dawning of new life from old, of things once dead being awoken to the light of _Anor_.

"Yet here I wander, even as the company awaits our presence, even as my son awaits what he feels to be an inevitable winter with no chance of the sun rising from the east, and every chance for the sun to set.

"We ride."

* * *

The storm had not ceased for the duration of the morning, and the sky held not the augur of a starlit night; yet the company of elves moved with a deadly, unyielding pace toward the darkened horizon in the distance.

* * *

"Estel! You cannot intend to continue like this! You have not slept in days. Though raised by elves you were, you are not of the Eldar, and even the Eldar cannot breathe water!"

The gales of shrieking winds throughout the canyon and the distant but ever present rumble of thunder nearly drowned out the ranger's reply as every clashing noise resonated throughout the chasm. The rain that fell in endless sheets had begun to flood the rocky ravine, even as they continued deeper into the dangerous abyss of what promised to deliver death.

"Elrohir, you do not wear the blame of Legolas' imprisonment. I cannot possibly delay when I am aware of the torment and impending death that awaits him. The longer I take, the closer he is to the Halls of Mandos. I will not leave him there to rot, I will not let him die!"

In his anger, he was unaware of jerking his own stallion to a halt, pulling to the side to debate with the elf, unaware of the level of the water rising to meet them both.

"So you will die in his stead?" hissed the dark-haired elf. "You will push yourself to death in atonement of your—"

"I am no longer a child, Elrohir!" roared Aragorn, attempting to be heard over the thunder that had, though he did not realize, ceased for a moment. "You need not patronize me with a manipulation of my own words!"

"Aragorn, I seek not to bring forth your ire but to understand. You are not yourself. I know not what fills your heart with such bitterness, yet I know you bring yourself to your grave, uncaring on what awaits the other side."

"I am no stranger to death, brother. Perhaps I have merely been invited to a waltz of faster tempo than either of us care to attempt, but I will not stand aside and pass the chance to liberate Legolas when I know that I am capable!"

Their horses whinnied frantically as the water, increasing every moment, swirled about their hooves in fast whirlpools of assured demise. The rest of the Company appeared from just behind them.

"Aragorn, please consider my words."

But Elrohir's last words were lost in the abrupt rise in water level and the sudden roar of thunder that shook the earth. It was then that the two became aware of the water rising to greet them, imploring them to taste eternal sleep, to be tossed and torn apart by the vicious storm, opening up its arms to envelope them in its icy and savage embrace, a final lullaby of disharmonious thunder and the crashing of waves, until the lightning filled their eyes and the darkness rose to welcome them.

It was Elrond's statement that rose above the noise, almost pointless, as each member of the Company had begun their desperate flight from the rising water.

"_Ride!"_

* * *

_It was the silence in the wake of screams that tore at his heart and ripped words from his mouth—anything to overpower the cacophony of voices within his head, all clamoring for the same thing, all shrieking for death and mercy and life, all sobbing and begging and demanding and betraying his own spirit._

* * *

"Master, he comes."

The disembodied feeling of cold satisfaction swept throughout the chamber even as the messenger fell, dead before he hit the floor.


	9. Captive of a Mind

Time is irrelevant to immortals.

Regardless of the line between day and night lapsing into obscurity, time would be irrelevant. Whether it was day, or night, or twilight or dusk, there would be an eternity of these more. As it were, a day or eternity could have passed and to no accord, no purpose. To pass one's life is such a manner, especially one gifted with eternity, could be (is?) a travesty.

At some point in his life, he would have cared.

Now, tainted by mortality and betrayal, he simply sat and stood and walked and slept and dreamt; aimlessly. He woke now, or fell asleep and dreamt, or perhaps simply stood shakily up after a time of sitting and losing himself in the vast stretch of eternity. Sometimes he thought he could tell when he truly slept and dreamt and woke, because some vague memory of pain seemed to rest upon him for a few moments in the lugubrious wakefulness from a dream. He welcomed those times. The memory of the idea that he could feel pain—feel anything, even pain—was welcome, because it reminded him that he could feel at all. Reminded him that he had once been a person.

Despite the fact that the dreams were often filled with pain and noxious fumes, dark forbidden languages and shackles, the dreams briefly united him with reality, and reality lay in ideals and hope—hope that the pain would end. For it was the silence in the wake of screams that tore at his heart and ripped words from his mouth—anything to overpower the cacophony of voices all screaming and pleading and begging and betraying his own spirit until he thought his mind might simply break.

He would wake then, a scream torn from his otherwise unused vocal chords. Then, a few moments would pass and the dream would fade into the ambiguous haze of grey that permeated the land and he would forget again, forget that life existed outside of this hopeless, though not despairing, simply hopeless land. And in a hopeless land, there could be no purpose and meaning, for there was simply nothing to hope for.

He stretched bones that seemed to stiffen further in protest.

Grey light tinged the horizon and hinted of twilight, or dusk, he was never certain anymore in this land of grey light and grey darkness. Whether it was the beginning of day or the beginning of night, neither option promised anything at all.

Perhaps if he had not been so terrified of betraying his brother and thus creating the worst of scenarios in his mind, he could have been able to fight the hold over his consciousness, or unconsciousness as it were. As it were, the Elf-prince simply lay, unperturbed by any, in the darkness of his mind. At times, he broke from the nightmare his mind had trapped him in; he woke in reality and the Orcs would note his glazed eyes struggling to focus through the fumes of Mordor and the permanent stench of death, through the obviously incapacitating pain of waking despite the dark magic placed upon him to keep his mind based in an unreality. At these times, as he weakly and futilely struggled against iron shackles and magic, the Orcs would beat him until he fell unconscious again and once again be caught beneath the magic of the Dark Lord.

He lay in a dark unreality based completely in his own mind, by his own mind, atoning for a sin he had yet to commit, but that he was unwittingly and unknowingly lying in wait as bait to do so, to lure the heir of Isildur to Mordor. And so as he woke in the land of grey light and grey darkness, he closed his eyes in the world of true light and true darkness, and the magic of Sauron tightened its hold upon his mind, allowing the prince's darkest fears and nightmares to take over his psyche and trap him in his own mind.

To escape once would not be inconceivable for the intelligent and resourceful Prince of Elves, yet for him to escape twice—first from his mind, then from his shackles in the darkest land of Mordor—would be impossible, and so rescue would clearly come first in the face of a ranger, the heir of a kingdom and a dynasty. The master of the one ring did not know his prey's name, but knew of his existence, would know him when he saw him, and would end this threat against his reign of darkness before this ranger could become a threat at all.

Now, in this land of unreality, the Elven prince stood, ignoring the hollow of his chest, the vast emptiness of the land that had seeped into his heart, the utter purposeless of standing with nowhere to go and no reason to stand. Eyes, haunted and yet dull, gazed across the desert-like earth. There was cracked, dry terrain now for as far as his eyes could see on every side.

He had run for a day; for eternity, he had fled.

Yet as long as he ran, from his shadows, from his demons, from the light and from the dark, he found himself ever in the presence of all these things, and so finally simply became accustomed to their presence and ceased his futile and frenetic flight.

His once lithe body was now stooped and frail, his sharp mind now dulled with the effort of closing his mind off from the unrelenting cacophony of voices, dissonant voices, all begging to be heard, and the utter uselessness of trying. The voices would be heard, the shadows would not leave his mind, his demons would not relent upon his heart, the light would not cease to burn, the darkness would not cease to instill fear.

The fair one, touched by mortality; the fair one, touched by a summer as never before.

For it _had_ been summer, before.

The memories of his life had been blurred, and now it seemed as though he saw the world and recalled his life through the dark haze of death. Yet he knew one thing with certainty. It had been summer. And one more thing.

Summer is gone, summer is gone, summer was gone.

And with the end of summer came no autumn leaves, no leaves at all. The end of summer brought with it the end of everything he had ever known. Trapped in this land with no summer, no autumn, no winter, no spring, and no reason to care that there was nothing to care about.

It was as miserable and meaningless an existence that one could ever hope to avoid. This introspection did not bring with it the sort of self-realization that it should, but rather brought with it the conclusion that life was not cruel, not sad nor poignant nor happy, not anything, and then it ended; except for him. For him, he had come to realize, life was not anything, and then it continued. And such a life was so meaningless that he wondered that he were alive at all, or whether perhaps he had become a specter, doomed to eternally wander the earth in a hopeless and futile quest to find meaning in an existence robbed of everything he had once held precious: integrity and vitality, brotherhood and trust, forgiveness and love and hope and faith; redemption.

This introspection brought a sort of ache to his chest that he could not explain nor banish; the sort of profound ache that one normally feels deep in their chest, as though at the bottom of an empty well—hopeless and hollow; the type of ache that rips and claws so dreadfully and so anguished at the bottom of this well, that at last water begins to well up. Then, suddenly, come the deep, desperate chest racking sobs that leave one heaving for breath and yet feeling inexplicably complete. Inexplicably alive.

Tears would not, could not, come, and so, instead, he was left feeling inexplicably hollow and alone.

__

"He is shrouded in darkness."

The despairing voice of the King, though quiet, still sounded over the thunderous hooves of the horses of the Company and the rhythmic rain falling about them. If possible, he pushed his steed to run faster. The Wood-elves were empathic Elves, and were able to take on some of the strain of their horses, thus enabling them to travel faster and lighter.

"I can no longer but feel that his heart still beats."

The sound of the rain, and then someone was riding beside him. "That is all that matters right now. We will not allow him to perish alone and hopeless."

Thranduil cast his eyes up toward the pouring skies. "And yet alone and hopeless already he perishes. Eru," the Elvenking implored, "Saes. Saes."

The sound of the infamously strong Elvenking's voice pleading brokenly carried above the rain yet again, abruptly stopping as his voice caught in his throat. Curiously enough, this seemed to give heart to the Elves who rode beside their King, rushing to the aid of their Prince.

The rain, too, seemed to offer a sort of serenity and hope in its ability to offer cleansing and redemption. The steady deluge of water, however, became lost slowly in the sound of raging water. Superior though the eyesight and hearing of Elves is, Thranduil abruptly heard the sound of a horse before him through the thick mist and rain, though could not see the mount, and then suddenly his stallion was rearing and jerking to the side to avoid another, riderless, steed. The horse was obviously spooked and upset, so Thranduil pushed his own mount to gallop alongside it, and reached out to it, whispering and inquiring to its anxiousness.

__

The roar of the water was deafening, thunderous and angry and demanding, if water can be given such characteristics. As the group fled before the sudden onslaught of water, they seemed to be caught in the echo of the flood and yet cocooned in the stillness of the canyon lands. It was an eerie feeling of surrealism, being caught between stillness and chaos. The walls on either side rose up in steep, unrelenting rock and yet the path before them rose so slowly in unrelenting denial of safety.

They could not flee the promise of the furious water forever, and with the promise the water held, having forever to flee was no longer a promise.

"We ride to our deaths!" cried Elladan, his stallion rearing upon nearly crashing into a tree that had obviously been uprooted at the origin of the flash flood. The tree flew past them in the raging waters.

Aragorn's face was white. "Nay." The water thundered on toward them and continued to rise at their steeds' legs. The ranger raised his voice until it became almost a yell. "Nay! We must climb the walls. Our horses will run faster without our weight and we can catch up with them further up, at dry ground." He left the words unspoken, _if_ they made up the deadly steep walls alive, _if_ their horses made it out of the canyon alive.

Aragorn had already led his horse to the edge of the canyon wall, beginning to stand upon its back, even as the stallion continued at a gallop. With an abrupt movement, he had jumped from the saddle to the wall and immediately clung desperately to the rock so that he wouldn't rebound backwards into the icy arms of death that the water promised. The rest of the company had stared in shock at the sudden change in position of the ranger. As they continued on at a gallop, it seemed they had no choice but to follow. It was partly true that their horses could move faster without their masters upon their back, despite the fact that they were Elves. Elrond was the first to follow Aragorn's lead, guiding his anxious horse to the edge of the wall and nimbly leaping to the rock wall and attaching himself to it, beginning instantly to climb out of the way of water and debris slamming against the side of the canyon.

Immediately after Elrond took to the wall, the other Elves broke from the stupor of indecision and began to lead their horses beside the wall, one by one leaping to the wall and beginning to climb. The rock wall was slick with rain and mud and more than once the Company found themselves beginning to fall, only to catch onto some sort of stronghold, or be pushed or pulled up by another of the Company. It was obvious that Aragorn's hands had become numb as he more and more frequently began to lose feeling in the hands and thus was unable to get good handholds.

As Aragorn's hope of escaping this alive began to diminish, so did he his finesse. As his icy and numb mortal hands were at last unable to grip the wall at all, and he seemed frozen in place, and all hope seemed to abandon him, suddenly a rope appeared beside him.

He stared dumbly at it, thinking perhaps the level of cold was at last making him hallucinate, delusional, when another rope fell beside the first one, and then another upon his head. Shaken from his stupor, he attempted to gaze through the icy sheets of water descending upon him. He thought he saw flashes of golden hair and fair skin, and was shaken further from the stupor that had overcome his mind, shaken with the shock that he thought he saw that object of his anguish, thinking somehow, Legolas had escaped and had come to rescue him instead. As he, in jerky movements so as not to fall off the cliff, wrapped the rope around his arm, he noted that other Elves of the Company were already being hoisted upwards.

As he was raised up, slowly, he realized the golden hair and delicate features belonged to Legolas' father and the shock, yet again, nearly made him fall again.

At last, all of the drenched and frightened Elves and Man had reached the top and found the Company of Thranduil and Wood-elves. Before Elrond could speak, as the Ranger could see he was about to, Aragorn interrupted.

"My lord Thranduil," gasped the exhausted human, respectfully though strangely timid. "It is a shock that we would meet here, though I am in your debt. Were it not for you, our Company might still be struggling below for our lives."

Though Aragorn had been raised among the _Eldar_, and knew of the sort of subtle magic of the Elves, he still could not be somewhat astonished to cross paths with Thranduil, no doubt upon the same mission, despite the fact that there was no way he had been told by a messenger and somehow made it to the same place as the _Noldor _Company at the same time.

Thranduil's sharp gaze met Aragorn's. "We seek to attain the same goal, do we not? You are in no debt of mine. Please, though, I implore you to tell me what you know of my son."

Aragorn's expression suddenly seemed to close off while at the same time it managed to express utter despair and guilt.

"I," his voice cracked and he broke off, pausing for a moment before he could continue. "We were hunting a party of Orcs when somehow they took us by surprise. I know not how. We were both captured. After two days, Legolas was able to plan my escape. He knew we were being taken to Mordor and he insisted that I leave." How could Aragorn explain to his friend's father that his friend had insisted Aragorn was more important?

A gentle hand touched the Aragorn's chin, lifting his head so that the two met gazes. As deep, intense blue met stormy grey, the Elvenking spoke one word, "Estel," and, somehow, Aragorn realized, Thranduil already knew.

"You did what was right. You are the hope of mankind. Had you remained with Legolas, I have no doubt that your light would have been extinguished. This was the purpose of the capture." The Elf paused, glancing at Elrond and the two immortal Elves locked gazes. "Legolas is shrouded in darkness, retaining life only physically. Since he is not yet… killed, I fear they keep him alive only as a trap."

Elrond inclined his head and Elladan and Elrohir stepped on either side of Aragorn, placing their hands upon his shoulders.

"You did what was right," repeated Thranduil, "and so did Legolas."

Abruptly, Aragorn realized what the king was saying and the look of subtle despair communicated between the two Elven lords, why his brothers had come beside him to comfort him.

"No." His voice was terse and rough, his movements jerky as he stepped away from his brothers. "I am the reason he is there! I have to rescue him, I have to help him," he suddenly implored, his voice desperate. "You cannot send me away." The ranger closed his fist and his gaze hardened. "King though I may not be yet, I am heir of Isildur, and I will make my own decisions. I am—" his voice cracked again. "I am the reason he is there," he at last repeated, his stormy gaze hardening. "And you cannot send me away."

And so it was that two of the last great Elven leaders in Middle-earth rode toward Mordor, along with the last hope and leader of Men.


End file.
